Remembrance and Reconciliation
by SnapdragonSmile
Summary: Andrew Yates hasn't seen the woman he loves, Sophie Brown, in five years. What happens when he forced into contact with her again? P&P, except with a twist. Modern.
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: It is a truth universally acknowledged that there are thousands of versions of Darcy and Elizabeth, minor and major. Most importantly, Fitwilliam and Elizabeth themselves. Bridget and Mark. On a less major scale, Jasmin Field and Harry Noble. And for every Elizabeth and Darcy, things go a little differently. In this story, as you'll see, the lives of Andrew Yates and Sophie Brown went very differently. It may seem a little different at first, but I'm sticking to the character's personalities and most of the original plot. This takes place five years after the original events in P&P, and is a What if? Scenario. Names Changed (but I'm sure you'll catch on quickly who is who. It's pretty obvious). Modern. I'm worried I've made too many changes from the original book, but I'm trying to keep it still a P&P story even if it is different. This author's note sounds pretentious as hell, and I hope you like the story. Review if you can to let me know if I should keep going.

Much love,

Miranda

"Where there is great love, there are always wishes."

---Willa Cather

**PROLOGUE**

Men aren't supposed to have "ones who got away". They just aren't. I now believe I have violated some

kind of male code of honor. The said "one who got away", Sophie Brown, would say that the theory that

men shouldn't have "ones who got away" was a sexist idea. And, as always, she'd be right. But I would

never dare admit it to her.

Sophie Brown. I'm beginning to feel like an old man in a classic novel, with nothing in his life to do but go

over some past events in his mind. Which is exactly what I'm turning into. It's just as well, really. She may

be someone I think about, but we could never have been together. I am painfully aware that my family and

aquaintances wouldn't take kindly to a Yates and some girl from the middle of nowhere. It was a stroke of

luck, pure luck, that she refused me that day, ungrateful though she was. Sophie Brown-Yates is a

horrifying notion. She would have brought my status down, embarrassed my family, and not known how to

behave herself in the least. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Who says it would have led to marriage?

Especially since, in her words, I was the last person she could ever love. Well, that's not exactly a

response that's going to make me try again, is it? I assume she doesn't know what I did for her, and I'd

like to keep it that way. I assume she'd think I was pushing her to be with me, which I'm not. I prefer not

to show off what I do. One always wonders whether the motive is for good or just approval. I may not

stop having feelings for her, but I've contained them just enough to stay away from her. If I ever saw her

again, I know exactly what would happen. I'd fall deeper, and we can't have that. I don't know what

happened to her, and that suits me very well. Most likely I will get as over her as much as I can, find

someone more suitable, marry her, and produce more Yateses. The woman will be cold, unemotional,

fashionable, and will look good next to me. I will never forget Sophie entirely, however. I know myself

well enough to say that is simply not possible.


	2. Chapter 1: Sisters and Goddesses

"When a woman like that whom I've seen so much, All of a sudden drops out of touch; Is always busy and never can, Spare you a moment, it means a man."  
----Alice Duer Miller

**CHAPTER ONE**

**SISTERS AND GODDESSES**

I should probably explain more about myself, although by being a Yates, it is likely you already know about me. Yes, the Yateses. The ones that are frequently in the papers, who are considered the epitome of Boston society. I sounded like a terrible snob again. Exactly what Sophie hated. That was the reason she'd turned me down. Well, that and a terrible misunderstanding and a huge mistake on my part. The phone rang.

"Yates here." I deadpanned.

"Is this a bad time?" I heard a shy voice say.

"Emily?" I asked.

"Yes, it's me." Emily replied softly. I smiled.

"Of course it's not a bad time. To be honest, all I'm doing is going over information. How is school?" In the strictest, most technical sense, this was true. Information about Sophie Brown. This brooding over her must be unhealthy.

"Great, actually. I'm doing really well." Emily, my younger sister, was at university. She was planning to be a teacher, possibly for Special Needs children. Teaching in general wasn't the career I would have picked for her, but I had to admit Emily would do it very well. And I'd at least learned enough not to persuade people out of what they wanted, even if I hadn't learned much else. I knew that if I tried, I could probably get Emily into law school and out of teaching, but I had to accept she would be miserable if I did.

"I hate to ask you this, but are you doing all your homework?" It's an obligatory question. If you're wondering why I assume this role with my younger sister, it is complicated.

"Haven't missed a single assignment." Emily said this quietly but proudly.

"Well done." I congratulated.

"Thank you. How are you? How's Jack?"

"So, the first thing you think of when you ask how I am is Jack." I snorted.

"No." Emily ventured.

"He's pretty much disappeared. I think he found a new 'goddess'." I explained.

"I hope she's all right. I really didn't like the last one." Emily admitted.

"Neither did I, Emily. Neither did I. Not a goddess in personality by anyone's standards. Not the brightest either."

"Yes." Emily sounded a little hesitant, like I'd gone too far. Which I probably had.

"Listen, I've got to go now. Do your homework." I commanded.

"I will." She promised. After all, just because I happen to be mulling over Sophie doesn't mean I'm slacking off work. Connections or not, I wouldn't be here if I didn't work for it. The phone rang again.

"Yates here. And I'm busy." I warned.

"Oh. Sorry. It's Jack." Jack. He should have been voted Most Likely to Put People Out of Jobs because of Total Disregard for Rules instead of Best Natured. I'd been voted Most Mysterious and Most Likely to be on Forbes 400.

"Jack. I'm swamped with work. I don't have time." I growled.

"Oh. Sorry. I just wanted to tell you something."

"Out with it. Quickly as you can, so I can get back to work."

"Maybe it's not such a good time." Jack hesitated.

"Just tell me." I groaned.

"I've met someone." What else is new?

"And?" I asked.

"I really think this is it. She's the One." The sheer amount of Ones Jack has is ridiculous and indecent. In some strange land, there is only one One. Apparently I'm the only person who believes this is how it should be.

"That's great, Jack. It really is. I have work."

"No, there's more." Jack sounded hesitant. I wasn't really used to a hesitant Jack.

"Yes?" I waited.

"I don't really know how to say it." Jack admitted.

"Is she pregnant?" I asked.

"No!" Jack protested.

"Well, I assume you're not yet engaged to her, because you'd have been bragging about it from the minute after it happened."

"No, it's who she is." Jack explained.

"Who she is?"

"I don't know what you'll think."

"If you're dating Emily, you will not live." I threatened.

"Dear God! No! She's 21! I'm 30! She's your younger sister!" Jack sounded alarmed.

"Didn't stop some people I might mention." I noted ruefully.

"I'm not him." Jack reminded.

"I know. I also don't have time for this ridiculous guessing game. Either tell me or get off the phone. I'm not particular."

"Fiona Brown." Jack admitted.

"Wait. What?" I asked. Fiona Brown?

"Fiona Brown. I met up with her again. She was taking her class to an art museum, and I was studying the paintings for inspiration." In other words, he was avoiding work.

"So, she's a teacher now?"

"Yeah. Like Emily. I asked her for coffee."

"That's it?"

"Well, yes." Jack finished.

"That's not exactly seeing someone."

"I guess not." Jack sounded like I'd just deflated him.

"How is she?"

"She looked pretty happy. Well, she was with her class. She's still the most beautiful woman in the world. A goddess." Aha! Goddess. There was the world. If it were up to Jack's opinion, every woman in the world would be a goddess. Well, not my scary aunt, but everyone else. And Sophie had only been "very pretty, too" in his eyes. Close enough.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yes. You should see her. Those dark blue eyes!" Jack raved. Actually, I had been thinking about a pair of eyes---but they were hazel, and definitely didn't belong to Fiona.

"Great. I have to work, Jack. Some of us do that."

"No need to snap at me, Andrew. Sometimes it's like you regressed ten years."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, for a while there you stopped being all moody and now you're back. That was ages ago, though."

"When was that?" I had a pretty good idea.

"God, it was… Long time. God, I think it was five years ago." You win, Jack. Here's the million dollars, not that you need it or I'd miss it. Jesus Christ, Fiona Brown?

FIVE YEARS AGO

It was a charity dance. The kind where people pay five dollars to come in and dance to bad music and eat stale cookies. It was to raise money for a local school. I'd been practically forced to come by Jack, who had fallen in love with Riverbrook (how can something be a river and a brook simultaneously?), Vermont already.

"Andrew," Jack had been sweating and smiling so excessively it was hard to tell which was worse, "you have to dance."

"I won't. I don't see anyone here who it wouldn't be torture to dance with." I said in French.

"I'm sure other people speak French, Andrew. Someone might hear." Jack replied, also in French.

"Are you joking? Everyone here is painfully uneducated." I snorted.

"If you insist, Andrew. There's a girl sitting right next to you. I think her name is Sophie. She's the sister of the beautiful Fiona."

"Even if she could understand me, which I doubt, why would I care? She's average looking, and doesn't seem to have anything else about her which commands any kind of attention. I wouldn't give her opinion even a second thought." I sneered.

"You're disgusting, Andrew." At this point, Sophie whipped around.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Yates. How are you tonight? I'm enjoying the dance immensely, though I think the food has mold growing on it. That could be a Health Department violation, and we can't have that. Although if you feed moldy food to the people you don't like, it could be pretty damn amusing. What's your opinion? Well, must go circulate. Hope your night improves! Avoid the chocolate chip cookies." Sophie raised an eyebrow while the words rolled off her tongue in the most perfect, fluent French I'd ever heard, with an accent like she'd grown up in France. But she didn't sound bitter or angry. Oddly enough, she seemed amused. She flashed me a mocking smile, gave a warm, sincere laugh and walked off. I wanted to bury myself alive.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, should I include a Lizzy/Sophie POV? Let me know your opinions. I hope people like this.


	3. Chapter 2: Reflections

CHAPTER TWO

REFLECTIONS

Jack and I met in fourth grade. Our friendship had an odd start. He ruined my art project. Unintentionally, of course. This was Jack, after all. Even at the age of nine, I hadn't been inclined like to most of the people I met. But Jack had seemed so genuinely horrified at the huge smear of yellow paint on my completely useless art project that I'd decided he was all right. We had been friends ever since. We'd been opposites even then. He was clumsy and accident prone, but people liked him. He exuded a certain air of general good humor that I suspected he'd been been born with. I suspected this because no matter how I might try, I didn't have it. I'd never ruined an art project by accident (on purpose was another matter). I was quiet and reserved most of the time, except for the occasional episode. I'd put it this way. Our teacher had come up with the genius invention of the "Thinking Bench". The purpose was that one was supposed to think about their wrongdoing while sitting on it. Sitting on the bench was assigned after one broke a rule, with a length of time deemed appropriate for whatever misdeed the Thinker had done. Jack spent approximately five minutes daily throughout the year on the Thinking Bench for offences such as talking in class and extending recess. I was almost never on the Thinking Bench, but when I was I would spend the afternoon on it, for such crimes as giving Nick Richardson a bloody nose (even mentioning Nick Richardson was disgusting. After all, our battle had gone far beyond fourth grade. Besides, our fourth grade rivalry hadn't been malicious, and now it unquestionably was), telling the teacher that she must think we were as unintelligent as she was if she was still assigning us the same homework, and refusing to work with kids I didn't like. Stuck up was a favorite phrase used in describing me.

Jack was a trust fund child, like me. Unlike me, Jack took it completely for granted. All through elementary and high school he'd slacked off from work, yet always managed to scrape by with decent grades just the same and inexplicably get into Brown. When we were twenty-five, he'd decided to drop it all and become an artist. This struck me as irresponsible, but I had to admit that however Jack screwed up, there would always be people behind him to pick up the pieces.

I heard in England they called advice columnists agony aunts. Agony aunt. I would like to congratulate the British on their sharp observation. Any visit to or talk with my aunt was full of agony. Sharp, acute agony. It was time for me to explain the truth about me, Emily, and Aunt Harriet. To be honest, I lied when I said it was complicated. Complicated can mean almost anything you want it to. And the truth in the situation of Emily and I is simple. Painful, but simple. I was twelve and Emily three when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. Emily didn't really understand the weight of it at the time. Nobody had ever died in her life yet, not even a pet. Both my sets of grandparents had gone by then, so I unfortunately did. My mother died a year later. To be honest, I didn't really know how to handle it, and my father wasn't exactly a help. I'd always dismissed Emily as an annoying pest befoe that point, and I think here was the point when we became close. My father certainly wasn't paying us much attention. I think here is the point where the few who know this story expect my father to kill himself. And as far as I'm concerned, he may as well have. This was the note we found.

Dear Andrew and Emily,

I'm sorry.

Love,

Dad

That was it. Just gone. Some people tried to file a Missing Persons report, which was ridiculous. Even at thirteen, I knew it was ridiculous. Missing Persons was for criminals or those who had been kidnapped. This wasn't A Wrinkle in Time. He wanted to be gone. We were to live with Aunt Harriet. I'd have to finish later. Nobody likes someone who just comes out with sob stories. I didn't want pity. I began to work.

When I finally walked home, I realized I was scheduled to meet my aunt for dinner. Great. Visits with my aunt were unfortunately unavoiable.

FIVE YEARS AGO

I'd turned to see Nora and Bob Harkins coming through the door flanked by none other than Sophie herself. Aunt Harriet looked like Sophie was something extremely distasteful planted to ruin her house. It was true, Sophie had on faded jeans and a shirt that said "Pictures of Perfection Make Me Sick and Wicked." Since Aunt Harriet attempted to be a picture of perfection, I could see how she might not like Sophie right from the start. If Sophie's shirt made Aunt Harriet think, Sophie might make Aunt Harriet think. Sophie and Aunt Harriet, instant antogonists.

"I'm Sophie Brown. I'm a friend of Nora's." Sophie put out her hand. Aunt Harriet didn't take it.

"Sophia has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Aunt Harriet said airily.

"I said my name was Sophie." Sophie looked baffled.

"Sit down, Sophia." Aunt Harriet commanded. I resisted the urge to bury my head in my hands. It was going to be a long night. Sophie plunked herself down in the nearest chair. It was time for the interrogation.

"Sophia, what school did you go to?" Aunt Harriet inquired.

"Riverbrook Union High." Sophie had looked Aunt Harriet straight in the eye.

"Interesting name." Aunt Harriet sneered.

"Not so much for a public school." Sophie replied shortly.

"You went to public school?" Aunt Harriet looked horrified.

"From Kindergarten to graduation." Sophie shrugged.

"Play an instrument?" Aunt Harriet huffed.

"Piano. For about a nanoseecond in first grade."

"You'll play for us. People just have to keep their talents upkept, don't they?" It wasn't a question.

"That's very true, Ms. Yates. Unfortunately, I have no talent to be maintained." Sophie challenged.

"You'll be playing at eight-thirty." Aunt Harriet dismissed.

"Well, if you like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Chopsticks, then you're in for a great night." Sophie warned.

"I'm sure you're incredible." I said. Suddenly all

eyes were on me.

"I appreciate the false flattery, Andrew, but since you've never heard me play that makes you well meaning but useless. Don't take it personally. Well meaning but useless is a compliment by my standards." Sophie said.

"Should I be complimented or insulted?" I asked.

"Oh, both. Backhanded compliments are sometimes better. Unless it's just a veiled insult."

"In which case?" I asked.

"You're back where you started." Sophie raised an eyebrow.

"You certainly seem to be opinionated." Aunt Harriet huffed.

"Thank you. I could tell you my idea for a new system of government but I'm afraid we don't have time." Sophie's tone was a mixture of bite and sweetness. It was clear she knew she hadn't been complimented, but she tempered it with enough kindness that she almost seemed genuinely unaffected.

"We certainly don't." Aunt Harriet sighed.

"Exactly. Besides, who wants to talk about politics at dinner?" Sophie shrugged.

"Mrs. Yates has several very interesting opinions which are worthy to be heard over dinner or any time. She believes---" Bob Harkins began.

"Hush, Harkins." Aunt Harriet commanded. I attempted to hide a snicker.

"I don't accept coughing at my dinner table, Andrew. You are usually so reserved." Leave it to Aunt Harriet to point out my obvious change in front of Sophie.

"I apologize." I attempted. Sophie smiled and winked at me.


End file.
